


shameless

by bluecarrot



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alley Sex, Hamburr, I Don't Even Know, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Stranger Sex, burr likes strange and that is Historical Fact, i love that alley sex is a common tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 13:55:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8058952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluecarrot/pseuds/bluecarrot
Summary: sex in an alley.that's it. that is the plot.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alexanger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexanger/gifts).



> for Alex, who didn't ask for it and should therefore not be held responsible for my excesses
> 
> written 9/16/16.

"My name -- my name is --"

"No. Quiet. No names."

 

So it's only hands and mouths and the queer flat color that voices take on, in the darkness, in the rain-drizzled alley.

One shoves his hand quick down the other one's trousers and finds his prize half-ready or more -- just from this impatient meeting, this collision with a stranger.  His grip is large and rough and certain, he's no wealthy young man but a laborer perhaps, or maybe a soldier -- who can tell? Who cares?

Burr doesn't care. What is the difference between them really? Because they're both here, aren't they, and his own hand is rough, too -- he's calloused on the finger and thumb from holding a quill, rough across the palm from holding reins. He gives a quick lick and reaches down, skimming over flesh

and hears a short, gratifying "hah" of relief or pleasure or surprise

so he twists a bit and gains another lovely whimper, but the man's breeches are tight and the angle is uncomfortable, he wants oh he  _wants_  to pull at the ties, slide it down over those finely-made hips his thumb is delighting over, the sweet dip and indent of flesh at the side, he wants to free the soft curve of belly in front

but they are still outside, still open to exposure, and he's not quite so far gone as that. Instead he tangles his fingers in a thicket of coarse hair and tugs lightly and that mouth opens, it nips at him, it seeks for him 

(he doesn't want to kiss, it's intimate and risky in a way that this furtive raw grasping is not) 

but kisses move along his neck and down his throat and despite himself despite himself he accepts it and presses forward pleading for more, _more_

and "you're beautiful, beautiful," he wants to say (tries not to say) about the weight in his hand, the mouth on his neck -- says it anyway, on a long low gasping moan -- the man doesn't answer, didn't hear maybe -- unless the all-over shudder he gives is an answer, a mute reply.

Burr thinks it's over (too soon, far too soon) -- but now he's being turned around and he's pressed against the wall, bits of broken plaster and brick-dust filtering down, sticky on his skin.

They're simply rutting now and that man is making the most precious noises, he's bucking his hips and keening, he's let off those aggravating nibbles and teases with his mouth, instead he is squeezing and tugging and making erratic motions, bringing Burr too close too fast and he's about to complain about this treatment when the other cries out, clenching and clutching and coming in a single great motion.

Burr, somewhat embarrassed, tries to move away and finish alone.

"Please." The other drops to his knees and prises free the tightness, and in a lack of reserve -- a lack of  _obeisance --_ that will become very familiar in the coming months -- takes the head and rubs it against his mouth and licks once to taste before sinking deep, stroking at the same time, pulling and scratching with nails and teeth while Burr makes a noise he will be ashamed of later on -- if he manages to remember --

He comes hard. 

His vision goes white and returns slow.

The man spits out on the ground and wipes his mouth and rises up and kisses Burr almost casually, tucking him in at the same time. "Thank you for that," he says. "I liked it." He's smiling; he sounds a little hoarse.

Burr liked it too; he does not say so. Instead he arranges himself more neatly, holding on to the man's shirt with his other hand, thinking  _wait wait wait don't go,_ trying not to let it show on his face. Still he says "So tell me your name."

"I've forgotten it." More kisses, open-mouthed and hot and assured and greedy, it's just like he fucks: "Come and find me later, will you? I'll tell you then. I'll make you scream it out." He grins, he's shameless.

And Burr is abandoned and yearning and emptied. "How can I find you if -- Hey!"

But he's gone.

So Burr leans against the wall. Rubs his face. Swears. Stares at the cobblestones, at the spot of spittle and come.  _Find me later._

Some sense of self is returning to him now; he feels hot. He _can't_  do this again. It would change everything. It won't be a meaningless event anymore. 

He can't live with that new meaning.

_It's nothing._ But he's halfway to hard again remembering this  _nothing_ (that hand on him, the tongue licking and tasting his underside, teasing -- his own touch bringing a response of bloodrush and small noises, glorious glorious -- in an alley _. Jesus.)_

 

Down the way and across the street a bar-door opens, light spills out, showing up briefly a group of laughing friends, bold confident young men in the military coats of their own army.

One of them has a familiar rasp in his voice -- a rough spot. He calls out loudly about nothing, he's feigning drunkenness, he's staggering a bit, laughing "hey!" as one of his fellows knocks his shoulder.

"You can barely keep upright, Alex. One too many."

"Not enough," says the voice -- Alex,  _his name is Alex_  -- he's glancing into the alley, searching the dark, and his bright gaze meets Burr's (he is immobile, formless, rooted into the stones without a single word to speak.)

Alex drops his eyes and says again, aloud: "I want more."

**Author's Note:**

> Hamilton is going to rise out of his grave and slut-shame me, and i'm going to point out the irony of his position
> 
>  
> 
> *
> 
> scold me about confusing pronoun use on tumblr  
> @littledeconstruction


End file.
